


Discipline the Mobster Way

by FightTheThorn



Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Bondage, M/M, No Sex, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Spanking, Other, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FightTheThorn/pseuds/FightTheThorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Storm Front variation)</p>
<p>I'm used to dealing with a lot. Getting myself into "rock and a hard place" situations is routine for me. Pushy mob bosses and their goons aren't anything new. </p>
<p>...at least, they <i>weren't</i>. But this right here just jumped to the top of my "Top 5 Situations To Stay The Hell Out Of" list. </p>
<p>Hells bells...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline the Mobster Way

**Author's Note:**

> A friend of mine is into spanking, I'm not too partial to it... which might show. First attempt at writing anything spanking, please go easy on me. I hope you enjoy it!

This really wasn't the best situation to be caught in and I knew it. Getting into a limousine with Gentleman Johnny Marcone, Chicago’s mob boss, ranked pretty high up with my usual blunders, but it definitely wasn’t the worst situation I’ve ever found myself in.  
I felt nervous, throwing out my own personal flair of sarcasm and defiance. I don’t like being bullied. I doubt anyone does, but I don’t take it sitting down. Well… at least in the figurative sense.  
Marcone was sitting across from me, looking as cool and collected as a rich mobster could. It was hard not to imagine some dastardly scheme landing me in hot water.  
“Take the offer, Dresden.” Marcone leaned in, looking into my eyes. Those old dollar bill coloured eyes pierced me. It didn’t help that I was still a little off-kilter thanks to the sudden exchange of memories between the two of us. Looking into someone's soul never got easier for me and now Marcone knew more about me than I wanted him to.  
I swallowed.  
Marcone had offered to pay my entire standard fee and all for the extremely difficult task of doing absolutely nothing. “No.” Like I said, pride before the fall.  
“I’ll double it.” He really didn’t want me working on this case.  
A fool would turn down this offer. I’d be able to do quite a few experiments, pay my bills, and refurnish my house. It’d be comfortable for a while and all I had to do was let things play out as if I had never entered the picture.  
..But I had already come into the picture. I’d already learned my lines and I was ready to perform on stage. I had a friend who needed my help. I’d already promised to assist with the case. There’s absolutely no way I could say no to Murphy now. Even if I could… it didn’t sit right with me.  
“No.” I looked him dead in the eye. There wasn't anything akin to fear now that we'd already soul gazed, just the uncomfortable tightening in my stomach at rejecting a dangerous mob boss. "I won’t take the job.”  
Marcone’s wry smile fluttered a little bit into…disappointment? “Ah… well. I’m sorry you feel that way.” He leaned away for a moment, sitting up straight against the comfortable cushion, looking out the window as if he were expecting to see someone.  
The car stopped and I took it as a sign that I should get out of the car. Pronto. But before I even made it to the car handle, both doors on either side of me opened on their own. This situation just got a whole lot nastier.  
Two big men, built like brick walls, entered in on either side of me. My pulse quickened like mad and I swallowed, looking to Johnny Marcone for answers.  
He snapped his fingers in response and I let out a yelp when the two men on either side of me grabbed me by the arms and held me tightly to my seat.  
“That was a little over dramatic. Seen too many movies Mr. Marcone?” I pulled at their grip, but it was really a useless endeavour. They were fucking huge.  
Marcone shook his head with a small sorrowful look in his eyes. “Looks like we’ll have to work on you a little.”

===

I take back what I said before.  
This is definitely one of the worst situations I've ever been in.  
At Marcone's order, the two muscle-bound men pulled off my jacket, shirt, jeans, and shoes and socks. Yep, right down to my nice tidy-whities. If he was going for embarrassment, he was certainly getting there.  
It's a lot harder to pull of a killing glare when you're in your underwear... unwillingly. I’m sure if I’d been trying to be seductive or sexy… I’d probably still have failed, but that’s beside the point.  
It was turning into a bad porno movie as they tied my hands behind my back with some fairly impressive rope skills. I’m not one to admire things in my time of peril, but it was both strong and comfortable. They probably thought that if they tied me up, I wouldn’t be able to use my magic at all. Of course… I may be giving them too much credit. It’s not that I couldn’t use my magic, it’d just be stupid to. I’d hurt myself before I even put a mark on my captors.  
And, despite all the evidence to the contrary, I’m not a masochist.  
They tossed me over to the leather seat holding Marcone. They weren’t gentle about it.  
Marcone, on the other hand, gently grasped my arms and pulled me over his lap.  
I felt my long legs brush against the carpet on the car floor. Damn, this was a swanky limo. It’s hard to enjoy it though when I’m bent over some mobster boss’ knee and two big men are watching me with… a disturbing amount of interest.  
I tried to say something else sarcastic. It’s what I’d usually do in this situation, but it came out more nervous than I intended. “Oh, Mr. Marcone. What-" I stopped mid-sentence when Marcone hooked a finger under my underwear band and pulled it down on the floor with my knees. Then he reached a hand back high in the air and he slapped my ass.  
Hard.  
I let out a shout, pulling at the rope holding my hands together. I squirmed in his lap, trying to escape, but it didn't stop the flurry of spankings I received. One after the other. Each worse than the last.  
Slap.  
Slap.  
Slap.  
I grimaced in pain.  
In between the slaps, I tried to collect my thoughts. I wondered if this was a dream. Then I wondered if I was really getting my ass beat on like a gorilla with bongos by a powerful Chicago mob boss like I was a five year old child who just disobeyed his parents.  
Each slap was worse than the last. I could almost literally feel my ass turning red. I knew how it felt on the embarrassment spectrum. Whenever his hand hit my ass I felt the suddenly cold hand on my warm buns. Marcone was a stronger man than I gave him credit for. He brought down his hand like a hammer onto a nail… and my ass was the nail.  
Definitely didn’t help that I had an audience of two, maybe even three if Cujo had stopped to look in. I wasn’t looking at them though, I was struggling against my bonds and to get out of this dumb predicament. I glared up at Marcone when he stopped.  
He looked down with a smug smile. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”  
“If you mean ‘Did you learn that Marcone has a weird fetish he forces on people who reject him’ then yeah.” I am funny. People should realize this by now.  
“Sad that you haven’t quite learned your lesson.” Marcone seemed unperturbed as he raised his hand again.

===

I let out a quiet moan behind the gag in my mouth. Apparently I’d been getting a little too loud for a limo with soundproof windows on the inside. My ass was as red as the fucking sun and Marcone had just returned me to the big bodyguards.  
I groaned as they sat me down, my ass was throbbing. I’d said “no” again.  
Marcone shook his head like a father disappointed that his child hadn’t learned such an important lesson. So, the answer was definitely to tie me up more. That makes sense.  
They bound rope around my elbows, ankles, and knees. Then they laid me out over their laps, face down, thank God. I didn’t want anyone looking at my nakedness more than they already had not to mention that the cold air felt nice on my pained rump. I struggled quietly, trying not to let it on that I was more afraid than I’d like to admit to anyone… ever.  
Marcone watched with some sort of sick satisfaction. Rich prick. He reached out and pat me on the head, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “You should have taken the deal, Mr. Dresden. However, your loss has become my gain. If I can’t convince you to stay out of the way with an appropriate sum of money, then I’ll just have to force you to follow my will.” He smiled, patted my ass this time, got a pained groan in response, and opened the door to leave.  
I thrashed about in anger, muffling out curses and not-nice things. Stuff like “Mmuck mmou” and “Mmill mmou!”  
You know, stuff that the hero usually says before he’s put into a much worse situation.  
"Don't worry, Mr. Dresden. You're not going to die anytime soon." He chuckled, closing the door before my screams for help could attract any attention.  
Again. Prick.  
The big bodyguards grabbed me in all the wrong places to the point that I felt like a contortionist. I’d never really been into yoga, so this didn’t exactly feel like a spa weekend. They used more rope connecting my legs and thighs together, connecting the length of rope to bind my waist and arms, and finally a rope behind my neck forcing me forward completely naked in the fetal position.  
I struggled, of course. Who wouldn’t? Still, it’s one of those things that is “useless” to do. No magic, or else I’d get myself killed in the process. I didn’t have a death wish, even though death seemed a little welcoming at this point.  
Honestly, I’m not sure how any of this was happening. They pulled out a briefcase exactly my size and let me get a good look at it in my uncomfortable position. It’d been completely lined with satin and there was a hole or two for air and a lock with a combination. They covered my eyes with a blindfold after I’d been thoroughly terrified.  
Still… once they put me in the satin, it felt comfortable and my abused ass felt good up against the fabric. Until one of them slapped it, of course. Bastards. I relaxed a little. I’m not proud of anything that happened, let alone this, but despite it all, I relaxed.  
“Marcone said he’s not done wit’ ‘cha.” The guard ruffled Harry’s head. “Gonna make ya his bitch, he is.”  
I murmured something eloquent into the gag. Maybe something great about Marcone being compared to a dick. Yeah, that’d serve him right. Whatever I said, it was all just unintelligible muffled noises. I’m hilarious when you can hear what I say. That’s the one downside.  
The guard laughed and shut the case.  
I heard it lock, felt the case being shifted, pointing my nose down. I could tell because all the blood felt like it was rushing to my head.  
It was going to be a long fucking week. At least Murphy would be looking for me… but with a culprit like Marcone, it was likely I’d be lost forever. Unless these guys bungled something up.  
There was something I’d bet on. Highly likely odds.  
Oh well… if I can’t stand it once they finally let me out, I could always shoot a fireball or something. Burn down the building. Yeah… that’s a good plan.  
Until then, I closed his eyes, ignoring the swaying of the suitcase and the uncomfortable position I’d been forced into.  
‘If I get sold into slavery at least I’ll be one of the most handsome devils they’ve got. I’d probably be the bell of the ball. I’d fetch a pretty price.’ I groaned, falling into a quiet slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Dresden, Johnny Marcone, or Cujo.
> 
> Like what you see? If you're interested in commissioning me, please check my website: http://jesselwolfe.wix.com/wolfeinc


End file.
